Sonata
by Nell Vance
Summary: He wants to touch her, this guarded guard of his. This Sulpicia. But her skin is of ice and Aro knows that his flesh will freeze to hers forever...
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This story is a slight AU, supposing that Sulpicia was a Volturi guard before she became Aro's mate. Also, since her particular talent is never named, I decided to give her one of my own: extra sensitive hearing. She also can "hear" or sense vibrations, similar to a snake.

This story was written as a one-shot, although I am considering a continuation. If you have a spare moment, please leave me a review. I'd love to hear from you.

Thanks for stopping by!

**Warning: **This story contains some very mild lemons, however, you really have to squint to detect them.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephanie Meyer's work.

**Sonata **

He wants to touch her, this guarded guard of his. But her skin is of ice and Aro knows that his flesh will freeze to hers forever…forever…

It is a charming fantasy. Opulent and sentimental. He entertains the thought while he watches her, this guarded guard…this Sulpicia.

She came to him out of Egypt, though she claims to be Roman by birth. He does not dispute her pedigree, nor her talent, which has impressed even the calculating collector in him.

But he wants to touch her. To hear her as she hears the music in voices and sounds. And yet he stays away.

He watches her in the dark hours.

Watches her pace the corridors, her beauty too much like Dido's, not fragile but fierce. Dangerous.

Aro loves the smell of blood in her hair, the streaks she leaves to dry even after her kill has begun to rot.

He thinks of her tresses must be soft, though, touchable, ready for his caress. He dreams of kissing her hair and placing a crown upon her head.

But perhaps she will not have him.

The other guards are alarmed by this Sulpicia. They stand apart from her and he sees their soft brows pucker whenever she draws near. She is like a poison, like the tainted ashes of Vesuvius. And he wonders why, why are they frightened…

Didyme seems to know. She calls Aro mad. Tells him he needs a queen, not a mistress. And Sulpicia is not fit to be a queen, she of the wild eyes and brooding heart.

Aro thinks his sister is jealous.

And his need grows.

He becomes Sulpicia's shadow, the eager vibrato of her voice enchanting him. Enthralling him.

Briefly, he thinks of Helen of Troy and fair Ilium that was sundered all for the love of a lady.

But Sulpicia is not his Helen. Nor will she ever be.

Aro wants to touch her.

In the space between day and night, he speaks with her and he marvels, ah, he marvels at her feral instinct. Sometimes, he wonders if she was born a vampire rather than made.

She is aloof. Maddeningly aloof. And Aro finds himself enraged for no reason.

He sometimes thinks of sinking his teeth into her neck and drinking straight from her jugular, her River Tiber. But he fears, oh he fears losing the music in her.

Marcus tells him that he is becoming passionate…and dangerous.

Aro needs to touch her.

* * *

Sulpicia plucks notes from the air and plays them in her mind, sending the echoes reverberating out through her footsteps.

She hates him sometimes, this Master of hers. Hates the way he follows her and watches her and listens to her music.

Sulpicia does not like being his guard. An item to be collected, toyed with, enjoyed. She has never been one for company and she quarrels with her cohorts. And sometimes, she even makes gentle Renata weep.

There is no glory in Volterra. No music. Only an emptiness which does not echo. Sulpicia longs for the melodies of Egypt, for the sensual rhythm of the drum and the song of the flute.

Now she is embraced by silence. And the silence drives her mad.

She thinks of her Master when she hunts. Imagines the taste of him…

But only because she has gone mad.

Mistress Didyme speaks with Sulpicia often. She lends her books and even brings her an old lyre to play.

Sulpicia is wary. Aloof. She takes the lyre and hides it in her room. She will not play, not while _he_ is listening.

There is something to be said for the sanctity of loneliness, she thinks. Though even her treasured solitude is soundless now.

She wonders if madness will kill her.

The tenor of her master's voice begins to disturb her. She hears the echo of his words throughout Volterra and, sometimes, in her dreams, it reminds her of an unclaimed melody, something new and raw that can be taken and shaped and sung.

Sulpicia almost wishes to hear him sing. Almost.

But only because she has gone mad.

* * *

He is passing her in the stairwell one day. It is dawn and the night has been unkind to both of them. Sulpicia averts her eyes when she sees him, one hand grazing the wall to her right. Her fingers touch the stones as though they were strings.

Aro sees the blood crusted under her nails. She has been hunting.

For the first time, he notices that she is sorrowful.

It happens quickly, like a sudden crescendo in a soothing sonata. Her boots slip on the step and before she can catch herself, he catches her.

Aro's touches the flesh of her wrist.

It is not of ice, to his surprise. A flicker of warmth exists, aided by the fresh blood in her veins.

And her thoughts, they tumble, _roar_ into his awareness.

He is whisked away by her music. By arias and dances and dirges. By a song so separate and unique that he feels his breathing quicken to a staccato rhythm.

She is thinking of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **I have decided to continue this story…it has more or less become a NaNoWriMo project of mine. ^_^ I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read and review the first chapter. Your thoughtful feedback is highly appreciated.

I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephanie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Two**

She is thinking of him. Aro is concerned at first, for her thoughts are accompanied by memories of hate and promises of lust. Perhaps, just perhaps, Didyme is right. Sulpicia is not fit to be his queen…nor his mistress.

But then Aro is reminded of her music, of her melodies which are somehow both exotic and familiar. And he decides, he decides that he must have her.

They say nothing of the incident in the stairwell. He does not confront Sulpicia then, but lets her go, gently, oh so gently releasing her wrist with a smile of his own.

She knows something has happened, of course. He reads the confusion in her eyes as she passes him by and the watchful glances she offers whenever they are in the atrium together.

And yet, they speak nothing of it. Aro waits patiently. He sits on his throne between cheerful Marcus and sour Caius. He hunts with his guards as they compete for the biggest kill. And in his mind, he keeps all things, all thoughts of Sulpicia, locked carefully away.

Marcus is the first to notice.

His brother-in-law walks with him one morning on a terrace, their brilliance shielded from the sun by a network of trellises. The roses are in bloom and Aro wonders why the flower's perfume reminds him of blood. Fresh blood.

And he wishes, to himself, that he had been the one to turn Sulpicia.

Marcus slows his pace. "Brother," he begins, his tone calculated as always.

Aro stops to admire a rose reaching from its vine. He stretches his fingers towards the petals, but does not touch them. "You ought to bring flowers to Didyme," he says, recalling how much his sister loves the summer blossoms.

Marcus ignores the roses. "You must be careful…_be careful _with this Sulpicia."

The warning catches Aro unawares. He drops his hand to his side, studying the chaos of vines that embellish the stone trellis. "Oh?"

He is not accustomed to warnings. They are foreign things to him. A language unknown.

He looks at Marcus and with his eyes, tells him he has no use for caution.

Marcus, however, is brave. He has never had cause to fear his brother-in-law. "I do not speak for you," he continues, one hand raised in a gesture of peace. "It is this guard…this Sulpicia."

"What of her?" Aro remains casual. At last, he touches the stem of a rose and lets his flesh glide along the thorns. Their bite is so little…hardly noticeable.

"I think you ought to let her decide for herself."

"Pardon?" He pretends to be confused by Marcus's wisdom and yet, the meaning of his words is all too clear.

His brother thinks he is harrying Sulpicia. He isn't, of course. But if he was…._if he was…_

"I have every right to pursue her," Aro replies. He has never admitted to pursuing her and now the words deliver a heady rush.

He feels giddy, almost.

_Yes, I am pursuing her. Is that a crime? How shall Hammurabi punish me? A heart for a heart? No…that's simply too sentimental!_

Marcus sighs all of a sudden, his face tightening. "She is a dark woman," he says. "I have observed her interactions with the other guards. Jealous, she is very jealous. And violent. And, I daresay-

"Dangerous?" Aro delights in the word and the effect it has on Marcus.

His brother's brows knit together slightly. A bee swarms close to his shoulders, it's humming filling the silence between them.

Marcus is looking at him hard now, truly studying him.

Aro waits patiently.

Finally, his brother speaks. "Perhaps," he says slowly. "I am too late."

_Indeed_, Aro thinks, though he shall never say it out loud. Much to his relief, the matter is dropped and they pass the hour picking flowers for Didyme.

* * *

Sulpicia hunts with Demetri. Of all the members of the Volturi Guard, she finds the tracker the least objectionable. He possesses the fluid music of a dancer. Quiet. Lithe. Agile. And when he lunges and leaps for his prey, his breathing becomes a tarantella, wild and primal.

She enjoys her time away from the tower with him, though summer has come now and the sun, pregnant with heat and light, lingers long in the sky.

Sulpicia finds herself growing impatient. Vaguely, she becomes aware that she is waiting for something…_something_. The mystery of it makes her abandon madness for sense. She is no Seer, but she has noticed a subtle shift in the air around her. Voices which were mellow now ring with curiosity. Footsteps reverberate with meaning, with a symbolism she is helpless to identify.

Perhaps it has no meaning.

Or perhaps she is losing her music.

On midsummer's eve, she joins Demetri in the fields beyond Volterra. The night is starless, the clouds above ruby with rain. And as Sulpicia crouches amongst the high wheat, listening to the staccato heartbeat of a nearby shepherdess, she thinks of Aro.

Of late, her Master has begun to smell of roses. She carries his fragrance with her through memories. And memories become dreams.

The reveries are fleeting. Heartbeats of time. Flutters of thought.

She feels him moving inside her…

Sulpicia wishes she were mad.

Aro does not speak with her often now and she finds that she misses the sound of his voice.

She tries to liken it to some instrument…a harp perhaps?…but cannot. His voice is an obscure thing, hard to catch like a high, passing wind.

And there is no net to catch the wind.

But danger is afoot, in all it's carnal glory. Sulpicia knows she must not misplace her trust…especially in herself.

A late storm comes raging through the Tuscan countryside. Beside her, Demetri raises himself up on his haunches. He has seen the shepherdess fleeing through the fields, her shawl billowing like a lonely sail on a barren, black sea.

Sulpicia captures Demetri's gaze. But through his eyes, she sees another's.

_Aro_. _Smiling at her, releasing her wrist. What has he seen? Or rather, what has he heard?_

Without knowing it, she races Demetri for the kill, bending the tender wheat shafts beneath her feet but not breaking them. The shepherdess does not see her death coming, but she feels the hungry jaws close upon her neck, her ruptured jugular sending sweet succulence into Sulpicia's mouth.

Demetri comes up empty-handed--and furious.

She has not finished feeding when he grabs the back of her hood, pulling her away from the steaming body.

"The girl was mine!" he shouts and in his voice, Sulpicia detects notes of wounded pride. She has unknowingly bested him.

An apology rises to her lips, but she curses him instead.

"Damn your blood!"

Demetri is too civilized to rise to her rage. He turns to leave.

Sulpicia screams at him, teeth flashing. She is angry, but more than angry…insane.

Demetri does not realize this, but Jane does.

The witch-child had followed them from the tower. And now she is quick to separate the combatants, driving Demetri back with a warning and Sulpicia with a threat.

The Coliseum is spared a battle.

Sulpicia lies panting in the wheat, her ears filled with the sound of shafts snapping as Demetri stalks away into the thunder. It is little Jane who takes her hand and leads her to a narrow stream where they wash the last of the shepherdess's blood away.

Veins of lightning strike the ground. Rain thickens the sky.

"I am going to leave this place," Sulpicia says, her voice cracked and foreign.

Jane's face betrays no emotion. "Master Aro will not be pleased."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much for reading! If you have a spare moment, please leave a review. I'd absolutely love to hear from you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **This chapter was inspired by "Willow's Song" the infamous, erotic ballad composed by Paul Giovanni for _The Wicker Man_. Some of the dialogue in this scene has been taken directly from the lyrics.

Thanks for stopping by! Please leave a review. I would love to hear from you.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephanie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Three **

He stands outside her door, waiting.

_For what? _reason asks him, frank as always.

Aro does not know. Perhaps he is hoping for an invitation, which seems less and less likely as the minutes pass.

Sulpicia has certainly heard him coming. She always does and he never ceases to marvel at her ability to tell one person from another just by the rhythm of their footsteps.

She is a valuable member of the guard. And he cannot lose her.

Or so he tells himself, when his mind to inclined to excuse his obsession.

He has been in a state of unyielding worry since Jane spoke with him two days ago. His darling witch-child informed him that Sulpicia intended to leave.

"Where will she go?" Aro had asked.

Jane did not know. Reasonably speaking, she had nowhere to go. No family. No mate.

Aro remembers what Marcus told him.

_It is too late._

_Yes, _he thinks resolutely. _Yes, it is._

He raises his hand and knocks. There is clear hesitation on the other side of the door. Aro listens for her bated breath, but hears instead the music of her voice. It is a charm, a living thing and the words seep through his alabaster flesh.

"Who is there?"

He swallows against the growing knot in his throat. "No one but me, my dear."

A moment drags by. He hears the rustling of fabric. Could she be dressing herself?

The thought is enough to push his desire towards a physical reaction. Aro feels himself hardening, waves of welcome heat lapping at his practiced control.

He cannot help but wonder…_why her? Why Sulpicia?_

Because he cannot understand her. And it will drive him mad.

With no little difficulty, he restrains himself.

The door opens and all of a sudden, she is standing there, a figure in pewter gray with her hair piled too neatly atop her head.

Aro is lost in the moment. His hand strays to her brow and he presses his forefinger against the smooth space between her eyes. Thoughts rush at him. The music is chaotic. Discordant. He hears the blasts of horns compete with wailing choir.

_Jane told. She told. Why. Thought…trust. Demetri went hunting with me. He's going to hurt me. Hurt me. Hurt me._

The notes slice into him. One by one by one. And yet he presses farther.

Memories and wishes flood the chasm between them.

_I can feel him. Close. He's almost inside me. I can feel him. Inside me._

Aro breaks the contact, his hand dropping back to his side.

Sulpicia looks away from him. "Please, come."

He enters her chamber. The room is Spartan in its furnishings. A chair. A table with wax weeping candles. Didyme's old lute is resting on the bed. How very kind of his sister to gift it to Sulpicia.

They say nothing for a long time. Aro watches her standing by the window, her back to the night sky. Her eyes are echoes of ebony. She hungers.

The stillness between them acquires its own beat. The tenor of their breathing thickens, until it becomes overpowering. Aro smells summer wheat upon her, along with a deliciously feminine odor.

He becomes mindful of an ache inside of him. It persists. Moment to moment. Breath by breath.

There is music between them. That he realizes now. And they are called to dance.

Aro tries to reign in his fancy, to address the issue at hand. He starts by saying, "You are not happy here, Sulpicia."

She replies with an anxious shrug.

He fears the return of her indifference and plows recklessly ahead. "Jane tells me you wish to leave Volterra. Is this true?"

Absently, her hand moves to her lips. "Will you let me go?"

A question for a question.

Aro expects to be enraged, but the fury never comes. It has been replaced by that steady ache, that steady beat which is now pulsing between them.

He moves closer to her, crossing a boundary marked by a contest of wills and resistance.

Sulpicia holds her ground against him.

"I see now," she whispers. "You will not let me go."

_Never_, he thinks.

But perhaps…perhaps he should.

He cradles her jaw in his palms, fingers grazing the lobes of her ears. Their lips touch. She draws back.

A wild light of indignation makes her eyes suddenly fierce.

"You _must_ let me go," Sulpicia says. And in the distance, Aro thinks he hears a hint of desperation in her tone. Desperation and fear.

But what is that to him?

"Never, never," he tells her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** This chapter is a bit more abstract than the others and it also contains some slight, slight elements of lime/lemon. And, because I'm a history major, I've decided to officially set this story in the 15th century (although I imagine time is rather arbitrary to ancient vampires ^_^). As always, I'd like to thank everyone who read/reviewed/favorited. Your support and encouragement is greatly appreciated.

If you have a spare moment, please leave a review. I'd love to hear from you. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Four **

_And as her lute doth live or die, _

_Led by her passion, so must I: _

_For when of pleasure she doth sing, _

_My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring, _

_But if she doth of sorrow speak, _

_E'en from my heart the strings do break._

_From "When to Her Lute Corinna Sings" by Thomas Campion _

There is rare merriment in the halls of Volturi Castle. Sulpicia sits upon the fringe of it, tuning the old lute in her hands. If it is music the ancients wish for, then music they shall have.

She had once held her talent aloof from their requests…but no more. After all, Didyme's lute serves no purpose lying cold and misused, locked up in her bedchamber.

But now, in one of the great halls, where half-finished murals adorn the newly plastered walls, Sulpicia takes up the instrument. The tension in the air is delectable and she smiles, knowing that she will be the one to break it, the one to violate that sacred trust of silence. Discreetly, she strokes the taut strings, her fingers culling silver notes that mingle with the laughter and patter of dancing feet.

_His kisses are insistent. Separate melodies played upon their lust. His arms capture her waist and she is pulled flush against his hardness._

_Sulpicia growls in surprise. "So is this what I am to you?" she accuses. "A whore?"_

The floorboards spring with each careful step. Sulpicia plays a lively air and watches the ancients dancing. Marcus with Didyme. Caius with Athenodora. Aro with little Jane who can scarcely keep up with his jaunty gambols.

She is not sure what to make of the scene. Once upon a time, it would have appeared disgraceful to her. Vampires, ancients, no less, cavorting like humans. But Mistress Didyme insists upon the ritual. Otherwise, she proclaims, Volterra will indeed become a crypt for the dead.

_When he does not answer her, she feels her fury mount. _

"_I'd rather die than be your whore," she swears…even as his feathery fingers seek the seam between her legs._

_Aro glances up at her. There is pain in his eyes. "Are my attentions lacking?" he asks, his insecurity disguised by the sudden huskiness of his voice._

_Sulpicia does not understand and her confusion causes her to drop her guard. She gasps as he thrusts inward._

Partners are exchanged now. Marcus with Athenodora. Caius with Jane. And Aro with his sister.

Sulpicia switches the air to a jig. The strings are suddenly sharp against her fingertips. Cutting. The music leaps forth only to be captured by her, the bleeding unicorn trapped between hounds and huntsmen.

She hears Didyme laughing. The sound reminds her of a swallow. High and fluting. Aro is smiling at his sister.

The scent of juniper wafts between them.

_Words pass between them, obscured by gasps. Aro matches the rhythm with his own and for the first time, Sulpicia finds herself lost to the music and not in control of it._

_Driven by curiosity, she presses her lips to his chest, sealing them neatly over a tell-tale scar._

_Aro hisses._

She decides to play the saltarello. The dancers are forced to employ a leaping step. Aro is the most graceful, she notices. A vision of past splendor. An old god reborn to the new. His raven hair sweeps past his shoulders, masking, for a moment, his puckish grin.

He startles to Sulpicia with his ease and ceremony. Feeling like a spooked horse, she returns her gaze to the lute.

Her hands work furiously.

_She is surprised when he moans her name. Why? She thinks. Why me? What could I possibly have to offer?_

"_Everything," he replies breathlessly._

The strings of the lute quiver rebelliously beneath her touch. The dancers are reaching a state of recognizable frenzy. The music is empty, she thinks forlornly, without a force to drive it.

And then, as the couples are moving into the half-turn, as the notes bleed from her fingers…the strings snap.

A discordant twang stains the undulating cadence of dance and revelry. The couples stop and Sulpicia feels that the spell has been broken.

Nothing remains.

_He rests his head on her shoulders. Sulpicia watches him, prone and defeated. Uncommon tenderness swells within her._

_Absentmindedly, she tangles her fingers in his hair. _

_They are wordless._

It is Didyme who sweeps over to Sulpicia with a maternal frown of concern. She takes the broken lute in her slender fingers and turns it upside down so that the strings dangle limply in the air.

"Really, Aro," she scolds her brother. "You must find her something better than this old thing. It isn't fair to her."

Marcus agrees with the ardor of a smitten lover. "We cannot expect to have dances without proper music," he says. "Poor Sulpicia has been forced to make do with so very little."

Aro studies them with faint amusement before pacing forward to take the lute from his sister. He inspects it thoroughly. Sulpicia watches as his hands breeze over it.

"Indeed," he says at length. "She makes the very best of music."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sulpicia is one indecisive vampire. Unfortunately for her, Aro knows exactly what he wants. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **This chapter was unbelievably stubborn. After much revision, it turned out to be less abstract than the previous installments. I do hope you find it enjoyable.

As always, I must thank everyone who took the time to read/review/favorite. Your feedback is truly appreciated. If you have a spare moment, please leave a review for this chapter. I would love to hear from you.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Five**

Didyme is alone in her chambers. It is a breezy evening and the streets of Volterra are alive with the music of a late summer festival. Her brother has taken Marcus and Caius into the city to celebrate the harvest. And fat, well-fed peasants are a rare delicacy these days. Together, the triumvirate will hunt, donning masks to disguise themselves as revelers as they sate their gluttony on the blood of Tuscany's blushing youth.

It is a night for trickery. And lies. And the indulgence of dark desires.

Didyme herself finds the spectacle garish. Instead of attending, she plans to watch the fireworks with Athenodora from the tower. And with some luck, she hopes to charm prickly Sulpicia into joining them. Her unspent maternal instinct has been triggered by the guard's indifference, and she cannot understand what it is that makes her so unhappy.

"Perhaps you ought to send her back to Egypt," Didyme suggested to Aro earlier in the day. "I cannot bear to see that Sulpicia so wretched--I fear she will wither away in this tower. Are you not concerned for her?"

Aro, although polite, was quick to dismiss his sister's advice. "I can manage Sulpicia," he told her, boisterous and confident as ever. "Do not let her misery distract you."

But it does and Didyme wants only to help her. With her brother gone, she invites Sulpicia to her chambers, a place where guards rarely trod or are welcome.

Sulpicia comes, more out of duty than enjoyment. She is a startling figure in her apathy. Her hair is wild and curling, her long, clever fingers compulsively clenched. Didyme greets her warmly and kisses those same nervous hands that had so lately brought Heaven's music from a simple lute.

"Dear Sulpicia," she says, her high cheekbones illuminated by branches of candlelight, "I have a gift for you."

There is wry curiosity in Sulpicia's expression. Her eyes are heavily hooded.

"You are too kind, Mistress Didyme," she replies in a flat tone.

Didyme wonders at her complete is lack of interest, but is undeterred. She brings the guard a package wrapped in a silk cloth. "A musician should have a proper instrument."

Sulpicia unwraps the cloth, revealing a lute. It is a beautiful thing, made of polished rosewood and strung with sheep's gut.

"Felix found it for me in the workshop of a master luthier," Didyme says. "There is no better in the courts of the richest mortal kings. I do hope it brings you pleasure."

Sulpicia lets her fingers ghost over the frets, her lips puckering slightly. At length, she looks at Didyme.

"Your brother has made me his whore."

The frankness with which she speaks causes Didyme to reel backwards. Sulpicia stands still as stone, perhaps expecting to be punished or reviled. For a moment, the silence between them is colored only by the echoes of the festival from the city below. Citrus spices the air.

Didyme clutches the casement behind her for support and slowly pulls herself up. "My brother?" An unbecoming gasp shoots past her teeth, but she quickly composes herself. Her brother. _Of course._

"Did he force himself upon you?" She is disgusted by the words even as they leave her lips, but sadly, she knows Aro is capable of such violence.

Indignity suffuses Sulpicia's regal countenance, which lends itself to the days of patrician Rome. "Of course not." With brisk and calculated efficiency, she places the lute on Didyme's writing desk and covers it with the silk cloth. "But I am uncertain of my position in this household. I did not come to Volterra to be a…concubine. Master Aro, I daresay, would vehemently disagree with me."

There is a lilting note of respect in the guard's voice when she mentions Aro's name, markedly accompanied by the vibrato of fear.

Didyme is bewildered. _How foolish of you, brother! _she thinks, although she cannot be surprised by his lust. Though what a horrible way he has chosen to indulge it…

Sulpicia, at the very least, is aware of its indecency. But suddenly, she seems reticent. Her shoulders hunch and she looks at Didyme warily, saying "Perhaps it was unwise of me to trouble you with this matter."

Didyme reaches forward and grasps the sleeve of her grey mantle. "No! Please do not think that, my dear." And she embraces Sulpicia, hoping to offer her some measure of comfort.

Sulpicia accepts the circle of her arms awkwardly, her muscles tensing.

"I am sorry for my brother," Didyme mutters, both horrified and shamed by the situation.

Sulpicia emits a snort, slipping from the embrace. "I am not sure an apology is needed…yet." Nervously, she touches the smooth space between her eyes. "The city is crowded with noise tonight. It wears on me…"

In a futile attempt to soothe her, Didyme closes the shutters over the casement. The chaos in the streets is muffled, but not to Sulpicia.

"I asked Master Aro for his permission to leave Volterra," she says. "He refused."

Didyme frowns. "I am not surprised by that. And he must see promise in you."

Sulpicia offers her a look of distraction. "I think he may love me."

A reply freezes in Didyme's heart and her tongue cleaves to the roof of her mouth. For once, she is speechless.

"Forgive my sentimentality," Sulpicia continues thoughtful, "but there is a certain music to love. But never having heard it, how can I possibly identify it?"

Didyme's gains control of her tongue once more, though her mind is galloping ahead.

She cannot imagine Aro falling in love.

Sulpicia's face pinches. She appears overwhelmed.

"I will help you," Didyme says fervently, "and so will Marcus. You must not fear us."

"There is very little I fear," Sulpicia replies stubbornly.

Didyme smiles at her. "I do not doubt that. But my brother, he fears much, I'm afraid, and he can be rash."

Sulpicia exhales sharply through her long nose. "So I was given to believe. He will not let me leave…" She trails off, rubbing the space between her sharp eyes once more. "Can you not hear it?" she says, a certain hysteria rising in her voice, "the music in the streets….the flutes, the drums, the singing, the _screams_."

Didyme hesitates. Poor Sulpicia. Poor, tortured creature.

Sulpicia's seems to be far away, lost to the darkness she has made her own. "But the silence is more frightful. The silence of the grave. And this place is a tomb. He will not let me leave."

Suddenly, she clasps Didyme's hand and wrings it. "Enough! They are coming."

"Who, my dear?" Didyme asks kindly. But then she hears her brother's voice on the stairs. His footsteps. His ringing laughter.

Sulpicia casts her a final guarded glance. "You are too trusting, Mistress Didyme," she says, before fleeing the chamber. "I cannot thank you."

She leaves the lute behind.

* * *

Marcus is pacing, his feet heavy on the floorboards, one hand pressed against his temple. Didyme sits upon their bed. She watches him patiently.

For the first time, he cannot bear his wife's gaze upon him.

"I am sorry, beloved," he says. "Sulpicia should have held her tongue. She should not have not brought this business to you."

Didyme raises a brow and shakes her head, her mane of raven hair whispering across her shoulders. "How can you be so unkind, Marcus? Who else should she have turned to for help? Caius?"

The incredulity in her voice makes him smile ruefully. The truth, although masked, is painful.

"She did not come to us for help, dear one."

Now his wife is on her feet. Her gown trails across the floor as she matches his step, equal to his stride and height. _And deepest convictions_, he reminds himself.

"I do not pretend to understand her heart," she replies slowly, "but I can sense sorrow. Surely, that cannot be feigned!"

"Nor anger. Did you not sense that as well?" He is antagonizing her and he hates to do it. But she must see, she must understand as he does…

Didyme frowns. Behind her, the first light of dawn leaks through the open casement, along with the departing nighttime wind. The scent of dying fires mingles with the earthy odor of horses and the summer harvest.

The festival has ended. The masquerade is complete. The hour for unmasking has come.

Marcus has sensed this coming. Sensed in it in Sulpicia's wiliness and Aro's mounting desire for her. And he had warned his brother, advised him to stay away…away from that woman.

"Because she is he equal," he says.

Didyme shakes her head in confusion. "What can you mean?" She is anxious, her movements fluttering and quick. He knows how this weighs on her heart, how she cannot stand to see such discordance amongst those she loves.

But Sulpicia does not deserve her love and concern. She is…

_Dangerous. Powerful. Aro's match._

"What he has been seeking." Marcus flicks his tongue along his lips, tasting the echo of his last meal.

Didyme sighs, somewhat more sharply than is her nature. Her hand comes to rest on his tense shoulder.

"Marcus," she says and his name is a charmed thing, coming from her, "please, tell me."

He stops his pacing and takes his wife, his darling, darling wife in his arms.

"Something is not right," he tells her.

Her fingers nest in his hair, curling against his shoulder. "Can we not help her?"

Marcus meets her gaze firmly and holds it. "Sulpicia did not come to you for help, Didyme," he says. "She only wished to test the waters of your compassion. It would be unwise of her to accept Aro's favor without first deciding whether or not her presence would be viewed as a threat by us. And now you see why your brother loves her, yes, loves her, dear Didyme. She is so very clever!"

Didyme stares at her husband sharply, skepticism skewering her face until she looks more like her brother. But then she softens.

"I agree with you, Marcus, but I still…I still feel the need to help her. Surely, you can appreciate my intentions?"

He studies his wife closely, every inch of her skin which promises porcelain instead of marble. If only Aro shared his sister's gift.

"There may be a way," he says at length, resting his forehead against her clear, pale brow. "Did you not say she wished to leave Volterra?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **For the record, I don't think Didyme is naïve. On the contrary, I think she must be quite intelligent and sharp…just not as wickedly clever as Sulpicia.

Thanks so much for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Another exceedingly stubborn chapter. Sulpicia is such a tricky character to write. As always, I must thank those that took the time read/review/favorite. Your feedback has been awesome. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Six**

It is early autumn and the swollen moon invades the sky, casting the dew into brilliance and white flesh into shadow. Marcus watches Sulpicia from a tight alcove, his hands folded before him as he ruminates. Were he not a monster, he could pass for a monk.

The hour is quiet. Echoes stir up from the city, a slight mist crowding the air. Most of the guard has gone hunting. The others patrol the halls of the stronghold, leaving the night pregnant with unspoken tension. Sulpicia stands alone at her post on the terrace. She does not know she is being watched.

Or so Marcus fancies, judging from the relaxed drape of her shoulders. She is unmoving, yet restless, her flaxen plait limp, her eye's deep-set and indifferent.

And it is this that worries him.

Marcus has always considered himself a curious man. A lover of the enigmatic, as Didyme put it with supreme eloquence. She has also called him thoughtful and politic and wise. A mediator. A ford between Caius's intemperance and Aro's capriciousness. Since the founding of the coven, he has acted as a guardian to its stability, ensuring everlasting strength from within.

He is the custodian of the empire. The caretaker. The one who soothes tempers and quells passions and keeps his brothers united throughout the darkening of days.

And tonight, in the tepid, close air, he faces his greatest challenge yet.

Sulpicia.

The woman is danger herself…if only because Aro loves her.

Loves, yes, loves her. Marcus is no shrewd miser, but rather a great devotee to life's most promising joy. He married young and encouraged Caius in his own romance with the soft-spoken, gentle Athenodora. And he had hoped that Aro would someday find a mate, a mindful, intelligent woman who might complement their growing family.

Not corrupt it.

He did not expect his brother-in-law to become enamored with such a dark creature. Sulpicia encompasses all of his fears, surpassing them, even, with her practiced neutrality.

She is aloof, haughty, commanding and strong. Dangerous, Marcus concludes. And something must be done.

He is comforted alone by the knowledge that she has not returned Aro's love, for her pride has been wounded by his impulsion. But it is only a matter of time, really, before Aro comes to the heart of the matter.

Before he realizes that he only need ask her to join him and she will.

Now, however, in this moment of doubt, Marcus has the advantage. And he intends to make full use of it.

Stepping out of the alcove, he approaches the silent Sulpicia.

"Good evening, my dear," he says kindly. "I would like us to have a talk."

* * *

_I am going to leave you, _she thinks angrily, deliberately, the tips of her fingers drumming against his sternum. _I am going to leave you and run far from this place. And you'll have to kill me if you want me back. Aro, do you love me now?_

Sulpicia raises her eyes to her lover's, anticipating his reaction. But he is languid, his head resting on silken pillows, one arm dangling off the edge of her bed. He pays no notice to her thoughtful rebellion.

Why?

_He is doing it to spite me_, she reasons. Any moment now, any second, he will bare his teeth and fury will flood the creamy lethargy of his patrician features.

Aro must know of her intent. She is offering it to him. Her sacrifice. Her martyred lamb.

_I know you hear me_, Sulpicia tells him with her thoughts. Pressing her ear to his abdomen, she listens to the great roar of air filling his lungs and the echoing emptiness left behind when it is exhaled. Blood, fresh from a recent kill, races through his ivory veins. She traces the line of his pelvis, smiling when he groans softly.

"Mea culpa." The whisper rises from her lips as a prayer.

Aro shifts beneath her. "You have sinned, my dear?"

"And in the sinning, I rejoice." Sulpicia knots her fingers over his hip. "Do you expect anything less of me? Your concubine?"

He frowns now and leans forward on his elbows. "You use that word too freely."

"But isn't that what I am? Your sister thinks so. She thinks you are incapable of love."

Aro's hand flits over her bare shoulder. "Didyme has no business with us."

"It is hard keeping things of this nature from Marcus," she points out. "Just as I cannot hope to shield my thoughts from you. We are all trapped here, bound to each other…lost."

Sulpicia relishes in teasing him. It's much like looking into the mouth of a lion, feeling the hot breath of the creature upon her face, seeing her death in the blackness of his blood-slicked throat.

She almost wants Aro to find out about her plans to flee. Self-destruction is a rare pleasure, though entirely tantalizing.

_Didyme urged me to leave_, she thinks, her lips tasting the space between his navel and ribs. _And your brother, Marcus, came to me the other night and told me I should head for Russia and that he would lie to you, mislead you. There is a conspiracy in your own house, Aro. Are you blind to it?_

Her breathing becomes shallow and she waits, her body arched over his. Surely he has heard her this time. Surely he knows…

"Are you so very unhappy here, Sulpicia?" Aro asks. His question is baited.

She hesitates. "I did not come here to be your concubine."

"Then why did you come to Volterra?"

Aro's expression is open and honest. For a fleeting moment, Sulpicia believes she has been granted the ultimate privilege; a glance behind his mask.

And oh, he is beautiful.

_I am confused_, the thought leaps into her mind before she can stop it. _I've never known want, or rather, want has never known me. _

_I could be happy with you…_

"Amun accused me of trespassing upon his hunting grounds," she replies at length. "He wanted me out of Egypt and knew you would steal me away."

"I never lust in vain," Aro murmurs wryly.

Sulpicia flinches, wounded by his biting wit. "He told you where as I was and you sent Felix after me. That is why I came to Italy."

He stares at her, his eyes no longer sharp, but soft and wide. The eyes of a child. Of a boy.

Sulpicia realizes she is too close…too, too close to him. The thought terrifies her.

She scrambles away from him.

Aro, however, reaches one hand out to her, his fingers open. She sees what he is offering, hears it in music of his soul.

_Union._

Trembling, Sulpicia places her hand in his.

_I do not understand._

"You must learn to trust."

_I have always been alone._

"This is my invitation to you."

_I am frightened._

"What have you to fear?" His eyes, both clouded and keen, follow the contours of her harried countenance.

She does not answer. The pressure on her hand grows. Aro clenches her fingers until they crack.

"You do not know." He is neither amused nor curious. With a feather-soft sigh, he releases her hand. "Sometimes I think you are more confused than mad."

"I should rather be neither," Sulpicia says.

Aro exhales sharply and his breath whispers across her exposed flesh. She hates being naked and clutches the sheets about her, aware even now that he has invaded her sanctum. His scent is everywhere and it clings to the air like smoke, pressing her thoughts until they swirl and swell like a tarantella.

_I am going to leave you, Aro. And I will not return._

But her mantra remains unheeded. Aro swings his long legs over the side of her bed and stands, his movements effortless and fluid.

"You are right, I think," he says, magnificent in naught but his gleaming flesh. "We are bound to each other. All of us."

After he leaves, Sulpicia promises herself that she will never see him again.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Poor Marcus. He certainly has his work cut out for him. As to why Aro didn't pick up on Sulpicia's telepathic messages, I've always considered his ability voluntary, or tactile. He wasn't particularly focused on her thoughts when she was attempting to sabotage herself…or he was in complete denial. ^_^


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay, everyone! This chapter was nearly impossible to write. I finally sat down last night and managed to churn it out. It's very brief and I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I do hope you enjoy it. The next installment has already been written, so you shouldn't have to wait long for an update. ^_^

Happy New Year!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Seven**

Sulpicia does not make it beyond the walls of Volterra. Demetri, Felix and Jane await her, ambush her in the corner of a stinking alley by the city gate.

The moon is faceless. Early frost crusts the muddy puddles that crowd the cobblestones.

Sulpicia does not try to fight them.

She is taken back to the tower and, because Caius insists upon it, tortured. But there is a deeper pain in the air, one that evades her as she writhes on the floor of the atrium, mouth twisting open in a grotesque sob.

No mercy.

When Jane finishes with her, she is dragged to the dungeons and locked within a cell. The act is more ceremonious than necessary, she realizes. Her prison, after all, is without walls.

"Wait!" Sulpicia begs as Jane and Felix turn to leave. Her voice rasps out to them like the scattering of dry leaves against the parched earth.

Jane glances back at her, slightly annoyed, but entirely amused. "What is it?"

"How did they know?"

A moment of aching silence. The dark closes around them. Seeps and breathes through crevices of thought and reason.

It is Felix who answers her. "Master Aro read your thoughts."

They leave, shutting the iron door behind them, sealing Sulpicia in with only her reaching screams for company.

* * *

"You knew." This from Didyme, his little sister, who comes to him with hair wild and weeping.

Aro hates to see her cry. He takes her in his arms and cradles her as he used to, so many years again, when thunder would startle them awake at night.

Lightening shearing the sky…

"Will you kill her?"

Her sobs pierce him, tear at his composure until he feels it crack. With some difficulty, Aro clears his throat.

"Desertion is punishable by death."

She looks at him with flooded eyes. Her breathing is an uneasy pulse that surges against them as they stand, embracing.

"But you love her."

Didyme's words catch him off guard. He is stunned. Undone. The crack deepens, widens, threatened by waters running swift and dark.

"And that is why she fled," he replies, vocal cords tightening against each syllable. "Sulpicia hates me."

A moment of weakness. Uncertainty. Aro feels it take hold of him and is rendered powerless. Helpless.

It is Didyme who comforts her brother now. He rests his head against her collar bone, remembers summers of wild flowers and honey.

_She left me. I disgust her._

Didyme's hands find his and she wraps her fingers around his knuckles. "Go to her, brother."

He is jolted by the steadiness of her voice. Her certainty. "I think Sulpicia would rather be alone."

And inexplicably, his sister smiles.

"Never," she tells him. "Never, never."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Like I said, short. But I do promise the next one will be much longer, with a boatload of drama and Aro/Sulpicia angst.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read. If you have a spare moment, please leave a review. I would truly appreciate any feedback. So many people have favorited this story, if you could possibly leave a review, I would be forever grateful. J


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** I wrote half of this chapter a week ago and the other half yesterday, so I do hope it's coherent and not too corny. ^_^ Most of my inspiration came from a lovely, haunting song by Alanis Morisette entitled "Uninvited". In my mind, it pretty much sums up Sulpicia and Aro's relationship in this story.

To all my readers and reviewers, thank you so much. You guys have been awesome. I really appreciate the outpouring of support and encouragement.

I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Eight**

Aro comes to visit her. She recognizes his measured footsteps in the hall. Hears the slight hitch in his breath.

Sulpicia waits for him, pressing into the shadows of her cell so that he must squint through the darkness to find her.

Let him think she is gone. Let him weep.

But he does not weep when he sees her. Simply folds his hands over the cell bars and sighs.

"There are consequences to our actions," he says. Sulpicia notices his expression. Etched in marble. _Pained._

"Without consequence, there is no order," she replies. "I knew I was breaking the coven's laws when I left."

"And you did not think you would be caught?"

"No."

Aro tilts his head forward. In the flickering light of the firebrands, his skin is flushed, clashing with the scarlet pigment of his eyes. "I wish I could save you from such naivety."

He is playing a game. Once upon a time, Sulpicia would have enjoyed dueling with him. Taunting and teasing him. But not now. She is tired and in her weariness, she has grown hopeless.

"I would not have gone if you had tried to stop me."

"Oh, but I did." A hint of a smile touches his lips, the lips of Hades, master of death. "Did Jane hurt you much?"

Sulpicia laughs high and loud, startling even him. "I do not answer questions that are posed in jest."

Aro leans forward, the bars framing his long face. "Sulpicia." When he says her name, all pretense drops away. They are left naked and bare. She sees now why he has come.

To save her.

"You are a tortured man," she tells him, crawling from the shadows on her hands and knees like a cat. "Even now, you won't let me go."

Aro looks down on her. "What an unfortunate slight."*****

* * *

She is unsure of him. Painfully unsure. And the uncertainty of it all is a poison, rushing through her veins, matching her pulse with a fervor and rhythm all of it's own.

This is weakness, she tells herself. This is certain death. Look into the eyes of the serpent. Gaze at the Basilisk and die.

He has that strange beauty of a charmer. He speaks like Socrates in the voice of a child and ends each of his sentences with a smile. And his cold breath teases her flesh. Whispers.

"You are too kind to me," she says, taking the upper hand and holding her ground firmly.

He leans on the wall opposite her. Hands clasped. Elegant. Black hair a wreath about his lithe shoulders.

"You think I am a flatterer?"

"Not at all." She skirts the edge of his question, so keenly aware that his eyes are on her.

What does he know? What does his mind sense of her that she cannot?

_Desire. Her desire._

Yes, surely that is it. It is more potent than the scent of blood to him. More alluring. He has noticed her desperation, the ageless, unfed yearning that she has harbored from the prime of youth into the strange limbo of immortality.

He is tempting her even now. With a promise.

Aro raises his hand, holds his palm open. An offer. This is what he is offering her.

But she turns away. "No."

"You'd rather be alone?"

"I would rather be free."

* * *

He bides his time, present always in the back of her memory. Waiting. She knows he will grow tired. They all have. And she can outlast him. Destroy him if she must.

What he wants is a toy. A pretty plaything. Someone weak and useless.

But she has always been powerful. And she will not be his.

"You do not want me," she tells him the next evening, mocking his persistence.

_I will tear you down if I must. I will destroy my body before I give it to you._

Aro remains unfazed. He has her in chains and is amused by his prisoner's defiance.

"You endear yourself to me all the more," he says, kneeling by her side, stroking her tangled hair.

"You are mad."

Now he laughs, the sound rolling from his throat in a smooth wave. "You would be dead if I hadn't saved you."

She knows this is true and the knowledge of it stings her. Cuts welts into her flesh like the tongue of a whip.

"I don't want you," she says. "I never did."

Now anger rises within him. True, unabashed rage.

"Do not lie to me." He speaks softly, lovingly, but she can tell that he is wounded. Wounded and bleeding.

_But I'm not lying_, she tells herself, twisting futilely in her chains. _I never asked for you_.

She repeats the mantra over and over. Chants it to herself until her mind is numbed. And yet somewhere, a crack appears, traveling down the mountain of her resolve.

_Perhaps…perhaps I was wrong_.

And her resistance flags. Crumbles.

* * *

He says there is little use in keeping her confined. Little to be accomplished. And so her frees her, snaps her chains and brings her out of the dungeon.

Sulpicia watches him closely. His face is lined. Taut and worried. A nervous pit forms in her stomach.

_I've worn him out_, she despairs. _He is going to have me killed_.

She looks at her hands. Hands which were made for combing harp strings and conjuring notes from the soul. She imagines them cracked and bleeding. Imagines them as ash.

And she says, "Please, I do not want to die."

His concern is matched only by surprise. "Of course not," he replies at length. And suddenly his arms envelope her.

They stand alone in the center of his study.

Sulpicia inhales his scent, mingled with the dust of old parchment and stale ink. Her fingers thread through his hair.

_No. No._

She pulls away, more threatened by his embrace than the festering hold of any prison.

Aro catches her gaze and keeps it. "You have a decision to make, Sulpicia."

"My fate is not in my hands," she replies evenly, a hint of frost thrusting shards of indifference into her tone. For a moment, she hesitates, then adds, "what do you want from me?"

His eyebrows dart up toward his ebony hairline. "You assume much."

"I am tried." Her shoulders sag and without meaning to, she leans against him. "Let us be done with this…please."

Despite her apathy, she is stunned by the sudden look of desperation in his eyes. The agony. Once more, his arms fall about her, his cheek to her head, breathing ragged and raw.

"Do you love me?" he gasps painfully.

Her throat clenches, aching and she presses her forehead to his shoulder. _This is madness…_

"Yes," Sulpicia manages, the word a jagged stone.

He pauses, then, "Marry me, Sulpicia. Be my mate."

She gazes into his eyes and searches for the doom that she fears. Echoes of her own mortality.

"I don't think you unworthy," is her reply, "but I need a moment to deliberate."***  
**

* * *

**Author's Note: **Good? Bad? Ugly? Let me know! As always, I'd love to hear from you. The next chapter will be drabble length, yes, drabble length, which means a quick update. Thanks so much for reading!

*****These lines come directly from "Uninvited", written by Alanis Morissette for the _City of Angels_ soundtrack, 1998.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **Drabble chapter. I do apologize for the length and brevity, but it's necessary to make way for chapter ten, which will be chock full of romance, back-story and, of course, drama. ^_^

I'd like to thank everyone who has taken the time to read/review/favorite. You guys are awesome!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Nine**

When Caius comes to the atrium the next morning, Marcus meets him in the arched doorway before he can set foot in the hall of judgment.

They exchange languid greetings and Caius is stirred by the peculiar expression on his brother's face. His curiosity, however, soon turns to unease when Marcus takes his arm.

"Dear brother, I have news to impart."

Caius is the consummate fox. Clever. His nostrils dilate to detect any disturbance in the balanced household of the Volturi. "Can it wait," he suggests, "until after we pass judgment on this errant guard, this Sulpicia." Wisely, he would rather not have his conscience marred by annoyance.

Marcus removes his arm from his brother's sleeve, his fingers dancing in the air for the briefest moment, conjuring diamonds from a stray beam of sunlight. "It is in relation to the present matter, I'm afraid," he says softly. "Aro asked me to speak with you."

By now, the guards have begun to gather on the outskirts of the room, their long cloaks dusting the cold stone floor as they arrange themselves by the doorways.

Jane is nearest to the ancients, and, despite her unwavering obedience to her masters, she listens to them converse.

Caius watches Marcus closely, his lips puckering in thought. At length, his eyes widen in understanding. "Tell me," he asks, "has Aro disposed of Sulpicia already?"

Marcus hesitates. "In a manner." His brevity perturbs the white-haired vampire into frowning.

Didyme and Athenodora arrive, clustering close to their mates. The air is suddenly breathless.

"Gods," Caius utters. "What has Aro done?"

Slightly, ever so slightly, Marcus flinches. "I believe," he says, "that our brother has taken Sulpicia from Volterra into the countryside."

"To free her?" Caius' brows are arched, angry.

"To mate with her," Marcus finishes.

The atrium is silent. And little Jane thinks that perhaps she should not have spent so much time torturing the woman who shall now become her mistress.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **This chapter was exceedingly difficult to write, as I am not quite adept at constructing love scenes. I do hope it turned out all right. *looks worried*

As always, I must thank everyone who took the time to read/review. You guys are the best!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Ten**

"When and where you are Gaia, I then and there, am Gaius."

Sulpicia observes him with detached interest, raising her thin fingers to her lips. "Roman marriage rites?" she questions. "Would it not be more appropriate to send for a priest so that he might sing a Mass?"

Aro laughs. "I thought you were a traditional creature."

"As long as tradition carries," she parries. "But ah, I can remember little of Rome now."

He does not respond, but leaves her space to meditate.

They are sitting in a dark room, in a dark, decaying house that he has kept for centuries simply because his family owned the land on which it was built. The fields outside have long been depleted of their fertility, the orchards felled and the purling streams diverted to greater rivers. There is nothing left in this ancient place save memory.

And the memories are naught but ghosts.

Aro, however, cannot help but be delighted by Sulpicia. He senses that his Dido is willing to be wooed, though he still approaches her like a startled horse. She might shy and bolt at any moment.

"How then, should you like to be married?" he asks her at length.

Sulpicia is quiet now. All restraint and reserve. She lays her hand upon the surface of the table between them and traces the grain of the wood with her palm. The upholstery of her chair is faded…a mirror image of her own weary expression.

"How would you have me?" Despite her coy turn of phrase, there is no lust in her words. Sulpicia is plain and practical. A woman of measures and means. So utterly agreeable to his tyrant's senses.

Aro does not touch her this time. No, he is saving _that_ particular pleasure for later, letting the tension mount steadily within him as wasted minutes haunt time and the wind stirs beyond the shuttered windows.

He wonders if Caius is angry with him. Certainly, his brother must accord him some leniency, some discretion to handle an affair as sensitive as this.

Marcus alone seemed to understood the nature of Aro's quest. In fact, he had previously confessed a certain resignation towards it.

But the worries of Volterra are distant now and Aro wishes to be merry. To enjoy his mate and perhaps, yes, perhaps, unwrap a bit of the mystery that has kept her so aloof…so cold.

Insecurity, however, nips at his conscience.

"Do you think I am forcing you?" he asks.

Sulpicia raises her eyes to him. Twilight is swift descending, slipping through the slats of the shutters and rendering her gaze colorless. "I do not think so," she says at length and her voice holds none of the music he longs for.

Aro hides his frustration. "Do you believe that I love you?"

"I think there are other reasons."

"Other reasons?"

"Why you should want to marry me."

"What are they?" His is curious. Leaning forward in his creaking chair, he forgets himself and extends his hand. But ah, he'd rather save her secrets for later.

"Tell me," Aro asks, carefully returning his hand to his lap.

Sulpicia flicks her tongue along her teeth and focuses her eyes on the tiled floor. Beneath the layers of dust, a vibrant mosaic slumbers. "I do not know what they are."

He is startled by her admission, but manages to find a crafty grin for her. "I should think, then, that there are none."

She is quick to defend herself. Feral and fierce. "I cannot read the minds of others," Sulpicia says, a certain undertone to her voice suggesting that she is cautious of his talent. "But I am beginning to understand you, Aro."

The sound of his name, falling so melodically from her lips, elicits a soul-stirring reaction. He knows then that he has made the right decision in choosing her for a mate. Her words are an exquisite torment and he revels in their perfect dance. Ebb and flow.

Unwilling to fight instinct and restrain himself, he slides his leg towards hers and under the table, their calves touch. Flesh grazing flesh in sinuous delight.

But he is not prepared for the thoughts that rush at him.

_Sulpicia. A precious newborn. A thirsting, miserable creature. All trembling limbs and wonderment._

_She is sitting in her family's villa, perched on the reclining couch so favored by the decadent Romans. And a child runs to her. A darling cherub. Tunic loose. Hair tumbling in charming elf knots._

_Her niece. The child of her sister._

_Sulpicia takes the girl, pulls her on her lap. Sings and cajoles and coos. But the pain, ah the pain…and the thirst._

_And suddenly, the child is wailing. And suddenly, there is blood._

All this in an instant. Aro recoils from Sulpicia's touch, then masters himself once more. He finds her eyes across an inviting distance and sees in them wistful memory.

So this is what she remembers of Rome.

Aro is reminded of his own turning and how he had vented his lust on hapless strangers…not his own family.

Sulpicia, it seems, was not quite so lucky.

Poor, pitiful woman.

Perhaps, he thinks, she does not hate him as he once believed. Perhaps, yes, perhaps she hates only herself.

And as time stretches by, Aro begins to understand her at last.

* * *

He cannot get the image of the child out of his mind. It stays there, a fresh wound reopened every time he shuts his eyes. And always, he hears Sulpicia screaming…screaming.

They are lounging on the bed, a great, canopied thing with tapestry curtains. The headboard is carved ebony. A dark scene of the Garden of Eden, with Eve holding out the sinful apple to her loving Adam. Serpents crawl up the high posts.

Sulpicia is uncomfortable and she keeps her arms folded over her middle, turns her head away from him.

Gently, he strokes her upper arm. The flesh is smooth and enticing. His kisses her shoulder, closes his teeth to her ear lobe and tugs.

Her face is a portrait of agony.

With some difficulty, Aro controls himself. He knows he must not force her. Not tonight. Not ever again.

She is his wife.

He slips an arm underneath her and cradles her body against his. Sulpicia resists, tenses and twists her lips.

She is afraid.

Aro rests his head on the down pillow next to her and tries to hold her gaze. "Sulpicia."

"Yes?" Her reply is instinctual, the response of a servant to master.

He grimaces. "What was her name?"

"Who?"

"Your niece."

Shock. Then utter sorrow. Her eyes widen to accommodate the tears that will not come. "Claudia," she says at length, her mouth struggling to form the appropriate syllables. "She had green eyes and she screamed when I killed her."

"I know." Aro is surprised when his gut clenches, surprised at so visceral a reaction to something that should be meaningless.

"My sister cursed me. She asked the gods to destroy me, to inflict upon me every shame and torment. I only wanted to be forgiven."

"A mother's reaction," he says softly, although in truth, he could scarcely judge human nature.

"Her green eyes," Sulpicia mutters, "they were beautiful. And she lay in my arms like a doll. I sang her a lullaby."

Aro swallows. His muscles are coiled and aching beneath the weight of her pain. But why did it disturb him so?

_Because_, a voice whispers, _because you love her._

"Are you still frightened of me?" Aro asks. "Do you think I will hurt you?"

A nod. "Yes."

The carved serpents watch over them, guard them with protruding tongues and faces of grotesque lechery.

"I never would."

Sulpicia raises a hand and covers her face. "Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"No." She looks askance and her features are made wild by sudden fear. "Are you certain you want me?"

Aro raises his hand to her cheek and is surprised to find it shaking. "As you are."

"As I am."

Sulpicia stays still for a breath, then raises herself up on the bed. Her legs come to rest on either side of his hips and she drops her arms across his torso.

A faint pulse bursts to life in Aro's core as she shifts her weight on top of him. Her body, he realizes, is deliciously intricate. A landscape of curves and valleys, all blanketed with snowy flesh.

She presses her forehead to his chest, directly above his breastbone where his phantom heart sleeps. And with her mind, Sulpicia speaks to him.

"_When and where you are Gaius, I then and there, am Gaia."_

* * *

And then he dives, straight into oblivion, into the colorless infinity of want and need. Sulpicia sighs when he comes to her, when he nests his long fingers in her hair and presses his lips to hers. He feels the sound muffled against his mouth, inviting as her tongue which has begun to probe past his lips.

The ache grows in Aro's loins, demanding he seize her at once and claim her for his own. Blindly, he fights desire with patience. He must let her guide him now…if only for tonight. He must win Sulpicia by granting her victory.

Sulpicia seems to understand this and gently, she guides his hand past her bodice. His palm cups her breast, rubbing against her hardened nipple. A soft noise erupts from the base of her throat. Her fingers find the hem of his tunic and deftly, she pulls it free and over his head.

Aro grunts, cold air striking his bared skin. Teasingly, Sulpicia runs her teeth along his shoulder, leaving a tingling trail of tenderness.

She is testing him, setting his nerves on fire in a careful dance which she will control. Aro smiles…and joins her.

He slips his hands beneath her plain, grey mantle and strokes her sensitive thighs. Sulpicia is still and he increases his ministrations, moving upward, upward, until his palm comes to rest on her fleece.

He kisses her before she can cry out.

There is a certain hint of cool indignation in her eyes, something of retained majesty as she writhes under her ministrations. But Aro is distracted. He lifts her unto her his lap, her legs easily spreading to accommodate his stiff manhood.

And as the wind rises, sighs and rises to a fever pitch, Sulpicia settles her hands around his throat.

He realizes, then, that his life is in her hands.

"It is strangely exciting," she says, her voice a muted trill, "to watch the stoic squirm." _[1]_

And then she releases him, returns his life and his heart.

Lust provokes his discipline until Aro is wild and Sulpicia along with him. His seizes her waist and pulls her down, his fingers dancing across her creamy belly.

Thoughts sift into rising music.

She shrieks.

When it is over, Sulpicia leans over him, her hair a curtain, a veil to obscure their congress. And of her own free will, she kisses him.

* * *

After their union, Aro takes his new mate to the decadent city of Venice. Together, they gorge themselves on the blood of musicians and artists. Poets and priests.

Dawn paints the canals as red as the Nile and Sulpicia dances with him in forbidden courtyards, tucked between ancient, echoing buildings.

* * *

_[1] _This line comes directly from "Uninvited", written by Alanis Morissette for the _City of Angels_ soundtrack, 1998.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **Wow! I never expected to receive such a wonderful response to the last chapter. It's now official: I have the best readers in the world. ^_^

Also, on a small side note, _Sonata_ was featured as a recommended fic on "Altered Lions and Sacrificial Lambs". For this, I must again thank my loyal readers and reviewers. Without you, I would have given up on this story long ago.

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Eleven**

After they purge Venice of its sweetest blood, Aro and Sulpicia return to his ancestral home in the countryside. Unsurprisingly, the mossy courtyard plays host to a pair of trim, black coaches. Aro recognizes the stately vehicles at once and he smiles carefully at the grey-cloaked groom who attends to the horses.

"I believe, my dear, that we have company," he tells Sulpicia. And succumbing to a nervous urge, he clasps her hand tightly.

Together, they slip through the shadows and into the shelter of the arched doorway. Sulpicia balks on the threshold.

"I can hear their worry," she whispers. "It rivals a pizzicato. Must we go in?"

Aro runs his thumb along her defined cheekbone. The watery light of dawn trickles through a dead grapevine overhead. "You have nothing to fear."

"They will kill me. I am a pariah."

"Such nonsense." His finger trails to her lips, still swollen from insistent kisses and the lasting lust for blood. "You are nearly as skittish as Cassandra in Agamemnon's house. I swear, there is no Clytemnestra within."

Sulpicia's expression is vague. "Your brothers will suffice."

Aro tries to ignore the nagging anxiety her sentiments provoke. He assures himself with the thought that he is Caesar, the beginning and end of all things. Marcus and Caius _must_ defer to him. "Do not linger so long on the threshold," he tells her. "I'd rather you cross the Rubicon with me."

She flashes her teeth at him, adopting the same indifference that he has come to recognize as her only proper defense. "As you wish." And she crosses into the house with the mien of a subdued captive. "The die is cast, husband."

Inside the villa, Caius and Marcus await them, two creatures of decadence so very out of place amongst the rotting, palatial furnishings.

Aro opens his arms in greeting. He is keen to continue the pantomime of gentility. "Brothers. I must say you were not entirely unexpected. See here my most worthy bride, Sulpicia." And he ushers his wary mate forward.

She offers Aro a somber glare, but accepts the low bows and murmured well wishes of the Volturi brothers.

Caius reaches forward and kisses her hand. "My lady."

Sulpicia folds her fingers into a fist and pulls away, scalded by his restraint. Turning to Aro, she touches the exposed flesh of his neck, below his chin and above his collar.

_They want to kill me. I am an inconvenience._

But Aro only laughs. High and loud. "My dear, you are much too paranoid." He sends her into an adjoining chamber, to sit amongst the dust and cobwebs until Marcus and Caius might be appeased.

Sulpicia leaves reluctantly and her skepticism haunts him long after she is gone.

At last, the brothers are alone. As gentlemen, they arrange themselves around the same table Aro had once courted Sulpicia across during their wedding night. They are situated in an uncomfortable circle, Arthurian knights instead of pompous kings.

Aro drops his pretense of civility and observes his brothers plainly. He will not speak first.

Caius readily accepts the rare honor.

"I do hope your mind is not clouded with inconsequential nonsense," he says shrewdly.

Marcus moves his hands over the table, a plain gesture meant to pacify any rising tempers.

Aro, however, is still lost to the passion of his recent union and he offers Caius a cutting glare. "You would call me careless?"

"Not so much careless as inconsiderate." Caius steeples his fingers, the sleeves of his robes billowing out across his lap. "If you recall, brother, Sulpicia was condemned to die."

"Indeed." Aro's nostrils dilate and there is a certain tensing of his shoulders. Beneath the calloused layers of practiced indifference, he is wounded. Caius, the most cunning member of the triumvirate, has never doubted him.

"We have overturned such verdicts before," he continues, his jaw working stiffly as the words slip off his tongue. "Sulpicia's desertion was not so much a case of betrayal, but rather, confusion. I shall take the blame for her actions, for I was the one who drove her to desperation."

Marcus raises a brow. "I am impressed."

"And I am certainly not heartless." Distracted, Aro gnaws at his nails, then forces his hand back to the arm of his chair. "What would you have done in my position, Caius? Would you have handed Athenodora over to be killed?"

Caius snorts, his face pinching, his flesh suddenly shedding its youthful vitality for the pallor of the dead. "That is an unfair question. Athenodora was not so unmanageable."

"And neither is Sulpicia. But ah, you seemed to disposed to abhor her."

"I never said such a thing." Caius shifts. His temper flairs, leaving them all distressed.

And yet, it is Marcus who loses his patience first. "Enough," he says, rubbing his brow with the palm of his broad hand. "Sulpicia is not a threat, Caius. That we know. But Aro, will you not at least acknowledge our concern? You courted your wife in the shadows."

"I used discretion," Aro bites back.

"We would rather you had been frank," Marcus replies. "This sudden union upsets our balance of power. A guard has now been raised to the status of wife. There is confusion in all of this. Will you not accommodate our concerns?"

Aro sits back and chews the corner of his mouth. "As much as I am able too."

"There is another matter that troubles me," Caius put in, his tone subdued. "Will Sulpicia's intemperance endear her to the rest of our family? I think not."

And where the fire had been quenched, it rages anew. Aro stands abruptly. "You use illiberal speech against my mate, brother," he says.

Caius seems ready to respond with matching fury, but Marcus steps between them.

"We shall put our argument to rest," he says firmly. "Sulpicia is not so much intemperate as she is aloof. There is no reason why she should not be welcomed in Volterra and awarded her rightful place amongst us. However, these things do take time. Why not enjoy your honeymoon, Aro. Let Sulpicia stay here or in Venice for a short while. She will adjust and I daresay, she will be happy. After all, do you not owe her such happiness?" His words are heavy.

Aro stiffens at his brother's insinuation. Sulpicia was never content to stay in Volterra…

He lowers himself back into his chair with a resolute frown. "I appreciate your suggestion, Marcus, but it is not needed. We will return to Volterra at once. Sulpicia must be accepted by our family. I expect nothing less."

"Brother." Marcus reaches for Aro, but is brushed away.

Caius sighs.

"This is my final say in the matter." Aro gazes at both of them. His eyes are an uneasy black.

* * *

**Author's Note: **For the record, I don't think Sulpicia and Aro will be exchanging their angst for marital bliss just yet. They must have drama!

On another, not unrelated note…

I have no plans of ending this story any time soon. As it is, this is the first time I have attempted to write a fic without fully outlining the plot. Rest assured, I have plenty of ideas to keep this story going, although, I am entirely open to my readers' opinions. Therefore, if you have something you would like to see in a future chapter (or wouldn't like to see), let me know! I always try to accommodate my readers to the best of my ability.

Thanks again for reading! I hope you have a lovely week.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **Ugh, transition chapters. Why are they so persistently obstinate? Unfortunately, both this chapter and the next will be dreaded transition chapters, shifting the conflict from Sulpicia vs. Aro to Sulpicia vs. everyone else. However, I do have some plans for more Volturi drama, including the arrival of an OC to shake things up as far as marital harmony goes.

As always, I want to extend my most sincere thanks to all those who have read/reviewed/favorited. You guys rock!

Next chapter will be drabblish. With any luck, I'll have it posted soon. Take care!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Twelve**

A shift occurs in the house of Volturi. Old stones shake the dust of slumber, slide and crumble and so become dust themselves. Upright pillars forsake the strength of ages and tremble. All that was once supported now plunges, plunges and shatters.

And vampire sensibilities, so attuned to subtle change, recoil in the face of revolution.

Aro arrives home with his bride on the cusp of twilight. He alights in the closed courtyard with Sulpicia and his brothers, all of whom have suffered the indignity of being packed into the same, tight coach.

Mimicking the feudal majesty of lost decades, the guards await their master in the shadow of the castle. Jane stands to the front, her expression docile. Resigned.

Alec looks glum. Demetri pale. And Felix, with his brooding eyes and massive shoulders, is thoughtful.

To think it was not a fortnight ago that they were dragging Sulpicia back to the tower. Merciless. Mocking.

And oh, how they tormented her.

There is a moment of breathless bracing. Grimacing as the storm clusters beyond the horizon.

Change is heartless.

Didyme and Athenodora, the setting sun lending their glittering skin a tawny hue, are the first to greet their new sister.

"My dear." Didyme folds her arms around Sulpicia's shoulders and tucks her chin over the nape of her neck. "Had I but known that your differences would one day set you apart."

Quiet confusion flitters across Sulpicia's face, but she suppresses it. "You mean, then, that I shall be distinguished. Separate." She squints uncomfortably. "It must be hard for you to accept me now."

"Never." Didyme holds her sister at arm's length and surveys her with the practiced scrutiny of a parent. Wistful motherliness darkens her burgundy eyes. "We are so happy to have you, Athenodora and I."

Hearing her name, Caius's wife shuffles forward and curtsies shyly. She is a perfectly delicate creature. Flaxen-haired. A dove with a fluting voice.

Sulpicia looks dismissive. "We shall talk…later."

And there is a moment, a breath of time, where the air becomes strained, a fleeting instance of unease.

Aro does not noticed it. He is resplendent with joy, his usual whimsy heightened by triumph and no little pride. He bows to his sister and to Athenodora, taking his wife's hand in a great display of affection. The flow of thought between them is uninterrupted, and he revels in their new intimacy.

Sulpicia is beginning to trust him.

_Take me inside, husband. I despise being watched. And yes, they are watching me…judging._

A broad smile shows each and every one of Aro's sharp teeth. He is a confidant master of ceremonies, unfazed by the attention, _enchanted _by it. Sulpicia has not yet learned to ignore what discontent teems below the surface of the coven. He knows she feels Caius and Marcus, their eyes ever keen and disapproving. He knows she disdains the soft presence of the wives and is revolted by the very notion of completing their trio.

Always the odd number. The thirteenth sitter at an already crowded table.

But Sulpicia does not understand…does not know, that he too has long been the uneven addition to his own triumvirate. And she does not understand what comfort their union brings to him…

Passing through the courtyard with his new wife, he pats little Jane on the head and acknowledges they rest of the guard with a nod.

"We must try to be more of a family," he says. And Sulpicia's hand tightens in his, her nails all too sharp.

* * *

She is sitting on a shelf of rock, one arm pressed to her breasts, feigned modesty giving her the air of fierce Diana. A length of tepid water slithers down her back. Light echoes with the voices of Venetian castrati dart upwards to the cavernous ceiling.

The old Roman bath is a place of fine music. Of supreme weakness and errant thoughts and flesh rendered crimson in the alluring glow of shaded candles.

As a guard, Sulpicia had never been permitted the luxury of enjoying the ancient baths, housed sensibly as they were in the deeper recesses of the Volturi stronghold. Now she is welcomed. Privileged. Enclosed.

Flat frescoes, paintings of white-robed Romans and olive branches and she-wolves, stretch across the arched ceiling. She is surprised to find the place invigorating, not claustrophobic…at least until Aro appears.

Her husband stops at the edge of the large, tiled pool, removes his robe of Orient silk and slips into the water with unabashed grace.

Sulpicia watches as his body slices through the bath. His lean legs propel him forward, one arm thrown back casually to part the water. His hair is liquid night.

She looks away…suddenly embarrassed by his nudity.

_This is not mine_.

Aro turns, his stomach taut and slightly obscured by the undulating waves. He treads water lazily. "Such a mask you wear. If only I could find an artist to chisel its like from marble."

And he beckons to her, sweeping one hand through the water and raising ripples.

"Do not flatter me," Sulpicia replies, reluctantly sliding from her perch into the bath. She does not wish to be troubled…wishes instead to be left alone, to savor the moments which were once hers but now belong to him. "You said we ought to be a family. It is a fallacy, don't you see? A falsehood. I have no need for family."

"No." Aro reaches for her, but she evades him. "I suppose not…haha, not after you drained your niece."

Her expression stiffens and then collapses into anguish.

Aro's smile fades. "Forgive me. Ah, Sulpicia, forgive me!" Again, he tries to catch her in his arms, but only succeeds in grasping her wrist.

Her flesh is slick and she slips away.

"Have you considered," she says, regaining her composure with difficulty, "what you will do with me now?"

Aro frowns. Ducks his head under water in a poor pantomime of drowning. "Are you so unhappy here?"

"Do not ask questions you can answer. I have said this before. Aro, do you see how I was in Egypt? There is much to be said for solitude." And Sulpicia throws her head back, her eyes seeing past the frescoed ceilings to Cleopatra's cities. The land of the asp. Of the martyred lover.

Blood in the Nile.

She is torn from her reverie by Aro, who has at last captured her and pinned her against the mosaic wall of the bath.

"Please." Sulpicia will not look at him. His moist breath streams across her face, causing all the tiny hairs along her neck to rise.

"You were never meant for life in a coven," he says calmly.

Sulpicia acknowledges the truth with a nod. "You see now what I am and I asked you if you would have me still…still…"

"Still I would." His lips are intrusive, pressing kisses to her flesh, driving her to places of abandon and wild, wild music.

And she has no control.

"Your guards hate me," Sulpicia insists, her body stiff and unwilling even as his knee pushes at her thighs. "I was one of them and now I am not. They cannot reconcile the change in their minds."

"Time, my dear. They will in time."

"Your brothers…I hear their concern. It is a heartbeat, unmeasured. They do not see me as you do."

Aro smiles wryly. "Never mind my brothers. We have had such quarrels before."

But Sulpicia will not be comforted. Placing her hands on his chest, she pushes herself back and away from her husband, at last clawing her way out of the pool and onto the rock shelf once more.

Aro's expression is one of youthful felicity. He floats away, granting her the space she desires, while his gaze remains intent on her body.

The body that is now his, Sulpicia thinks and a fluttery sort of panic overcomes her.

"I have never belonged here," she says. "You must know that…Aro, you must."

But the smile never leaves his face. At length, Aro stands, the water running in rivulets down his torso, down his clever fingers.

"Then I will build you a labyrinth," he says, bracing his hands on her legs, his face so very close to hers. "And you may run and hide and live as you please. You see, I can deny you nothing."

Sulpicia says nothing, even when he takes her roughly, invading what was once hers and only hers.

Because now, yes now, she is his.

And never…never, never again will he let her alone.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: **Yes, I'm quite alive! I must apologize for taking so long to update. Being a full-time college student has taken its toll lately. However, I'm back and ready to revive this story. The next five chapters have already been written and updates should be regular for most of the summer. The focus of the story is slowly shifting to Sulpicia's relationship with the rest of the coven and I intend to dedicate the next few updates to her interactions with characters such as Caius, Jane, Felix, Demetri, Alec, etc. By the way, if you have any requests, please don't hesitate to ask. I always do my best to please my readers. ^_^ Thanks again for your patience!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Thirteen**

There is some manner of relief after the great matter of Aro's mating. A sigh and a tremor that ripples through the Etruscan foundation of the Volturi's stronghold, settling in the high, pigeon-nested rafters. Life in the coven resumes, with all its weary decadence, only now the air is spiced with the perfect fecundity of an aria.

Enchanting, Aro remarks and he is dreamy with love, no longer Agamemnon, but Aphrodite's blessed Paris.

But his brothers remain uneasy. Unsure of this strange music. Unsure of their new, forlorn sister and the discord she has inadvertently culled.

It surprises the coven then, (especially Didyme and Athenadora, who have spent the most time in Sulpicia's company and first guessed her to be perilously apathetic) when Aro's new mate attempts to befriend Caius.

A short time after her wedding, Sulpicia is often seen not in her preferred solitude, but on the very fringe of the brothers' notice. She comes quietly into the atrium every dawn and stands with the wives, appearing awkward and boney in the ill-fitting gowns Didyme has loaned her until a suitable tailor might be found to craft her the robes of a queen.

Neither Didyme nor Athenodora press their skittish sister into conversation, but even they cannot help but watch her as she attends to the business of the coven, all from behind the wary lens of a recluse.

Sulpicia is keen in her despondency and she observes the brothers' judgments, their quarrels and compromises, listening with the tact of a composer for dissonance in a sonata she has written. In the morning hours, when the sun shines the brightest and colors every immortal's glance red, Sulpicia's eyes are carefully misted. And she waits, patiently, standing with her shoulders hunched, not regal, but quietly broken.

And after a month of this practice, she abandons her post between her sisters and crosses the atrium to Caius.

Her footsteps are subdued, lost amongst the fluting voices of the brothers. Caius has risen from his throne and descended the steps of the dais, the excess length of his robes resting over one spindly arm.

Sulpicia stops before him.

And on the edge of the atrium, Athenodora grips Didyme's fingers with her own.

"Brother Caius?" Sulpicia's voice is no longer resilient, but cracked and creaking like old wood.

For the first time in centuries, Caius is startled. "My lady." His silken eyebrows dart up his forehead, rendering his expression thoughtful, iron streaked with the weakening rust of age .

Sulpicia takes a shuddering breath. "Will you walk with me?"

Caius, for all his private discontent, is not rude. He extends his arm and supports Sulpicia's gangly frame with his shoulder. Together, they stride across the echoing chamber, into the shadows where their voices carry only as whispers, offering tantalizing hints that leave even the most indifferent guards curious.

Sulpicia's mouth moves quickly and she chews over her words like an inelegant wolf lapping at the fat of a deer. "Do you pity me, Brother Caius?" The muscles of her hands work furiously and she notices, much to her shame, that she is shaking.

Caius looks at her hard, as he looked upon her when she first came to the coven and stood before them shrieking and sobbing and begging to be brought back to Egypt. "I think Aro deceived you."

"He is lying to me?"

"No. But he hunted you and trapped you and offered you freedom where there was none."

"Then I am indeed a prisoner." Sulpicia tries not to let her disgust show, but it trickles into her limbs, tightening the flesh about her cheeks as she frowns.

Caius notices how drawn she looks.

And he hopes that Aro is watching them and that his brother realizes, once and for all, how wrong he was.

"Is it because you think I am mad?" Sulpicia asks suddenly, tugging upon his arm and snagging his attention. "Or do you think I am dangerous? Ah! How can I be dangerous now? You know I am held here." She holds out her wrists, showing him the chains that are not there.

Caius shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a new worry gnawing at his mind.

"Do you wish me to work against your husband?" he asks frankly.

The panic in her eyes reassures him. "I could not!" she gasps. "For how unfortunate it is for me to love him." Suddenly, her crafty pretense of sanity departs and she is left standing before him, bare and boney in a gown that doesn't fit and her face so pained that Caius must look away.

"Ah," she growls, and it is indeed a growl, no longer obscured by her strained sighs, "Ah let me weep, my cruel fate!"*

Her hand slips from his arm and she turns away, leaving Caius to ponder just how difficult it is for her to admit that survival will not suffice. In the coven, one must thrive.

And somewhere on the very fringe of the room, Athenodora releases her hold on Didyme's fingers.

* * *

_*This line comes from Handel's famed aria Lascia Ch'io Pianga, featured in the opera Rinaldo. _


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: **See, didn't I promise regular updates? Thank goodness for summer vacation. This installment mostly deals with Sulpicia's relationship with the Volturi guard, something I really haven't explored so far. Chapter Fifteen, which is in the works, will cover her dealings with the other wives and finally, her past in Egypt with Amun and his coven. Then I hope to move on to Didyme's death, Carlisle Cullen's arrival and the initiation of a new OC into the Volturi.

As always, I want to thank each and everyone one of my reviewers, **hopeforastalemate**, **Kyilliki**, **Princess Mishawaka**, **Aztilen-chan** and **ebony fox, **along with everyone who has taken the time to read or add this story to their favorites/author's alert. I'm a little bit behind on my review replies, so I do hope you'll forgive me. I truly do cherish all feedback I receive. Thanks for stopping by!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Fourteen**

Felix believes that Mistress Sulpicia must detest him.

His mind, which Master Caius had always called simple, deduces facts from reasons, eschews emotion and comes to a conclusion that leaves him unsettled. Unsettled and watchful.

Sulpicia _must_ hate him, because it was he who followed Amun's summons to Egypt. It was he who found her in Alexandria all those years ago.

Time has passed, eroding memories like fine-grained sand along a river bed. And now the river is a chasm and in the depths, uneasy waters gurgle, reminding him of the East and palm fronds and wicked incense. Incense that lingers in air thicker than blood itself.

He remembers finding Sulpicia. In the dark…in the night…hunting amongst the caravanserais, feeding on stringy traders and men with black, beetle eyes.

Felix knew at once that she was the vampire Master Aro had sent him to find, because she walked within the breath of the oud and the wail pf the lyre.

And oh, how ungentle he was with her. Ignoring her screams and pleas. Breaking both her legs so she could not run, and throwing her over his shoulder as he carried her back to Italy. Back to his Masters, who were curious about the vampire who heard only music and spoke of songs.

Now, centuries later, that tormented creature is his mistress, her legs healed but still scarred, her heart cautious and mindful.

And Felix knows that she must hate him.

* * *

Occasionally, Alec reads with Sulpicia. His mistress is teaching him Greek, even though she herself is a Roman and quite particular about her Patrician heritage.

It is she who suggests that they read the tragedy _Agamemnon_ and as Alec is stuttering through the unforgiving dialogue, reading the part of Cassandra, Sulpicia weeps.

And then Alec remembers that it was Cassandra who was abducted from her homeland by Ajax the Lesser and forced to become the concubine of a foreign king.

* * *

After some time, Demetri earns the odd distinction of being Sulpicia's favorite guard. It is an awkward position for him. Unwanted. The benevolence of a madwoman is not a welcome gift and often he wonders, why, just why, she chooses to be kind to him.

Him…of all the coven.

During the first, tentative days of her favoritism, Demetri expects jealousy from Jane and curiosity from Felix and ringing uncertainty from clever Alec. But they avoid him, leave him to her lavish gestures and her opulent whispers and (oh that rare luxury!) her sympathetic smiles.

Aro encourages his mate's preference and appoints Demetri as Sulpicia's bodyguard, condemning him to walk in her cold footsteps and the shadow of her never-ending witch music.

And for the first time in ages he becomes the prey. The hunted. A thing to be controlled, and it drives him mad, the not knowing. The bewilderment.

Because he knows there is no reason, no reason why she should have chosen him.

But Sulpicia's memory is stronger than his and she remembers how he was kind to her. Kind when she first came to Volterra and trembled and sobbed and begged to be returned to Egypt. Kind when Caius punished her for impertinence and Aro pursued her and Marcus ignored the sins of his brothers.

And kind when he took her to the coven's hunting grounds, cupping crimson his lined and faintly scarred hands so that she might have her first taste of Italian blood. Kinfd as he abetted her fears with thoughtful assurances.

Empty promises, but promises nonetheless.

His compassion, Sulpicia learned, did not last. And all too soon they became competitors, vying trackers who fought like dogs over every kill.

But now that she is the Mistress of Volterra, she remembers when Demetri was kind to her and she tries to reward him with the loyalty she herself never knew.

And her heart breaks, shatters, when she realizes he is not grateful.

* * *

Jane knows that Sulpicia hates her and that singular hatred has little to do with the torture she once gleefully inflicted upon the woman who is now her Mistress.

Torture that Caius ordered and the entire guard watched and Sulpicia accepted because she had deserved it. And Jane has no qualms, because her Mistress _did_ deserve it.

But now, Master Aro has rewarded disloyalty with love. The paradox confuses Jane, threatens to overwhelm her and it is only with difficulty that she keeps her temper in check.

Because she cannot afford her usual outbursts now, now when she suddenly finds herself tainted.

Tainted as she was in her native village, when her neighbors and friends and parish priest came to burn her alive.

Now, in Volterra, Jane is tainted by Aro's favoritism and Sulpicia, for all her supposed indifference to her mate, is jealous.

In the early days of their marriage, when Sulpicia begins to test the tepid waters of her influence, she becomes convinced that Jane is a danger to her standing.

"It comes to this," she tells her husband one evening, after they have made love and are lying in the grand, canopied bed Aro imported from his ancestral estate in the countryside. "I will not have the witch-child above me. You have imprisoned me here, Aro. At the very least, I should afford your exclusive affection."

And Jane knows this because she has been watching, in the shadows, in the unwanted, neglected realm of her master's domain.

After that, Aro's attention cools towards her and once more, Jane finds herself an orphan. And she remembers the smell of her flesh when it was aflame.

* * *

**Author's Note: **If you're interested in a slightly more in-depth, somewhat different take on Sulpicia's relationship with Demetri, you might want to take a peek at my one-shot, "Camelot". I don't know, for some reason, I always thought they'd make a good couple.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.

**Chapter Fifteen**

"You are not my sisters."

The words strike the heavy air with violence, heralding the first rumble of thunder that brings a summer storm closer to the horizon.

Athenodora and Didyme are lounging with Sulpicia in a dusky grotto near the western wall of their private garden. The place is a small Eden, lush with midsummer promise. Didyme sits on her knees pruning her favorite rosebushes with silver shears. Athenodora is curled around the lip of a fountain, the spray of which casts dew into her flaxen hair.

And Sulpicia, crouched beneath a willow tree, is pitiful in her discontent. She stirs like a rabbit in a hutch. Ever restless. Wary in her perfected malcontent.

Didyme pauses and places her shears on the grass, unaware of the thumb-sized soil stains that trail across the hem of her gown. "Sulpicia." She says the name only for fear of startling her silent sister.

Athenodora lifts her head. Her eyes are grey and her expression delicately dovish. She tries to smile for Sulpicia, but her lips tighten around her teeth and she finds her reflection in the rippling waters distasteful.

Sulpicia watches them both and feels disgust rise within her, swelling in her breast until it threatens to crush her heart. Tactfully, she chooses to ignore the jealousy that pools in her mouth like venom.

A shadow of maternal emotion ages Didyme's ever-youthful face. She reaches for a rose and leaning forward, tucks the stem into Sulpicia's hair. "I know what my brother says," she muses, smoothing the petals with her long fingers. "He wishes us to be a family-but you must not expect so much of yourself, darling Sulpicia. We are not slighted by your indifference."

But Sulpicia cannot help herself. She cringes at Didyme's sympathy. At once, her fingers find the rose and she pulls it from her hair, crushing it.

Didyme sighs. "This will take time."

Athenodora, who has been observing the exchange with gentle reverence, sighs and gains her feet. She is an exquisite creature, soft and sinewy in gowns of white and gold and lavender. And she loves her husband.

Sulpicia is viciously jealous.

"It was your sister's child that you killed," Athenodora trills, her vibrato matching the careful trickle of water on marble, "or so Caius has told me. Do you hate us both because of it?"

Prickly fear and doubt creep along Sulpicia's neck. Of course Aro would tell his brothers all of her secrets. And the brothers would tell their wives. And the wives their guards.

Over her shoulder, she notices Demetri lingering on the garden path.

"Immortality does not suit all of us," Didyme says wisely, reminding Sulpicia too much of her husband. "Perhaps it is not us you detest, but yourself."

Sulpicia rolls her back along the bole of the willow, wondering if she should be insulted. "I am content with my life."

"That is a lie." Didyme does not flinch and her eyes betray serene compassion.

But Sulpicia will not be pitied.

Her nails find the mossy grass and pierce the soil. Moisture gathers beneath her fingertips. "I will not have either of you for sisters."

The pain on Didyme's face is shattering, matched only by Athenodora's songbird wailing.

* * *

Sulpicia's memories of her sister are dusty with time. Ungainly trinkets that she likes to examine in quiet moments, when she knows that Aro will not pry into her mind with his practiced curiosity. What she remembers is disgraceful. A woman married young to an old man. A woman accustomed to the pain of childbirth and a lecherous husband and the marble columns of an unforgiving Roman villa that barred the spirit as effectively as the body.

It was natural, of course, for such a woman to welcome her young sister, her darling Sulpicia, lately come from a settlement beyond the Rubicon to live in Rome after a strange illness swept through the Gaulish outpost. An illness that left centurions bloodless and weeping, and Sulpicia pale and dazed.

And starving.

Sulpicia thinks she will never forgive herself for sundering her sister's family, a poor family though it was. In the household of her brother-in-law, she fed on the lean slaves by night, sucking them dry and leaving them to rot in the stable yard behind the villa for the street urchins to find. And by day, she sang lullabies to her green-eyed niece. Lullabies tainted with carrion breath.

There was only one thing Sulpicia wanted from her life and that was her sister's forgiveness. But the woman is dead now and her ashes color the plains of the underworld.

* * *

Two nights later, Sulpicia finds Didyme in the library amidst scrolls and ink and the stale dreams of a thousand poets.

"I am sorry." The words form a hard knob in her throat.

Didyme extends her hand and grasps Sulpicia's wrist with a thoughtful smile. "My brother need not have cajoled you into apologizing."

But Sulpicia only feels a sharpness behind her eyes and she remembers that it was Didyme, after all, who tried to shield her from Aro. "I assure you," she manages, swallowing against the pain, "he did not."

* * *

**Author's Note: **The next chapter might be a little delayed since I'm going to attempt to update both _A Faint Reprise_ and _Epitaph_ in the next few weeks. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

As for chapter sixteen, here's a sneak peek; How do you solve a problem like Sulpicia? After a decade of marriage, Aro must face the hard truth that his wife simply wasn't made for coven life. The brothers and their wives (excluding the lady in question) gather to discuss Sulpicia's unsuccessful period of adjustment from Volturi guard to wife.

Thanks so much for stopping by! If you have a spare moment, please leave a review. I'd absolutely love to hear from you.


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